


My Angel, Janet

by Sparklespirit



Series: The Fandom Revival Tour [1]
Category: Jane Eyre - All Media Types, Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: F/M, POV Edward Rochester, POV First Person, dialogue by Charlotte Brontë, way too much introspection on the part of Edward Rochester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklespirit/pseuds/Sparklespirit
Summary: Jane Eyre, seen through the eyes of Edward Rochester.Or, Rochester gushing about Jane and angsting over his past.(direct rewrite of a scene just before they attempt to get married, and things go to heck)





	My Angel, Janet

**Author's Note:**

> This was written quite a while ago, but I'm still proud of it, so here you go!
> 
> This was a class assignment, so it was required that I keep all original dialogue of the scene I chose to rewrite. All credit for the dialogue therefore goes to the honorable Charlotte Brontë!

I stood nervously waiting in the nursery. I could hardly believe that Jane, elusive and lovely as she was, had finally agreed to marry me. I had called her in a few minutes ago, but they already felt like an eternity. I spoke to her as normal, when inside I nearly cried for joy.

“Come and bid me good morning,” I said, and she did not hide her happiness at her entrance, as she had for so long. I was finally able to embrace her as I had long waited to do, and it seemed a natural extension of my life, a long-awaited moment. 

“Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty, truly pretty this morning,” I said, as she seemed to glow in the early morning light from the side window. I could hardly believe that all this beauty, all this intelligence and character were soon to be my companions forever. 

“Is this my pale little elf? Is this my mustard-seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?” I continued my litany, rejoicing that I was finally able to claim my one and only love as my own, mine forever!

“It is Jane Eyre, sir,” she stated calmly, standing away from me, and I noted that even as betrothed, I was still “sir” to her.

“Soon to be Jane Rochester, in four weeks, Janet; not a day more. Do you hear that?” Even four weeks was too long to wait to seal us together, but arrangements must be made. All must be perfect for my rather scared-looking love.

“You blushed, and now you are white, Jane; what is that for?” I must not move too fast, never mind that I had been seeking her my whole life. I must not scare her away, never hurt her, it would be like hurting myself. But…no, I must not tell her, I must not frighten her more than I have already evidently done. But what did I say that would frighten my Janet? Had she found my only reproach? 

“Because you gave me a new name––Jane Rochester; and it seems so strange.” Only pre-wedding skittishness, I could bear that.

“Yes, Mrs. Rochester, young Mrs. Rochester––Fairfax Rochester’s girl-bride,” I said, as I would claim her as my wife. My only true wife.

I stared inward, nearly forgetting her presence as I remembered the long-ago day that I had walked down the aisle with another, one who I thought I loved and have never but hated since. The demon was _not_ my wife, but I could not stave off the small voice that shrieked in the back of my mind that I _was_ married, and Jane could never love me because of what I had been forced into by my abominable brother. This happiness could never be pure, never true, because of his existence and my father’s all-consuming greed. If only I had been born first! They had forced me to relinquish my dreams and into a sham of a marriage to a monster, one that would and had poisoned the rest of my life. I was shocked back to the present by the small objection of my only love. 

“It can never be, sir; it does not sound likely. Human beings never enjoy complete happiness in this world. I was not born for a different destiny to the rest of my species: to imagine such a lot befalling me is a fairy tale––a day-dream,” she said, resigned to a fate far different than the one I had only just promised her. 

“Which I can and will realize. I shall begin to-day. This morning I wrote to my banker in London to send me certain jewels he has in his keeping––heirlooms for the ladies of Thornfield. In a day or two I hope to pour them into your lap: for every privilege, every attention shall be yours that I would accord a peer’s daughter, if about to marry her.”

I would and will do everything for my Janet. I will make the world and she herself see her as the beauty and angel she is. She will be my lady of Thornfield, and the whole manor, my whole world would be hers.

“Oh, sir!––never mind jewels! I don’t like to hear them spoken of. Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange: I would rather not have them,” she protested.

“I will myself put the diamond chain around your neck, and the circlet on your forehead––which it will become: for nature, at least, has stamped her patent of nobility on this brow, Jane; and I will clasp the bracelets on these fine wrists, and load these fairy-like fingers with rings.” Why must I now think of a day not so different, of a day when I gave those jewels to someone else? That is long gone, but its evil influence taints my life, but not Jane, never Jane. Jane will shine in these treasures, my light forever.

“No, no, sir! Think of other subjects, and speak of other things, and in another strain. Don’t address me as if I were a beauty; I am your plain, Quakerish governess,” she continued to object, as she grew flushed, as if embarrassed that I loved _her_, not a society belle. However, and as I said,

“You are a beauty in my eyes, and a beauty just the desire of my heart––delicate and aerial.” 

“Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir––or are you sneering? For God’s sake, don’t be ironical!”

Oh, I do love our verbal sparring, but she was securely in the wrong. About her, I could never sneer; it would be like detesting myself.

“I will make the world acknowledge you a beauty, too,” I continued. “I will attire my Jane in satin and lace, and she shall have roses in her hair; and I will cover the head I love best with a priceless veil.” She was a beauty in my eyes, and although her features and mine were not the standard of beauty, she was mine.The imagined figure of my Jane in a wedding gown was dispelled by her outburst.

“And then you won’t know me, sir; and I shall not be your Jane Eyre any longer, but an ape in a harlequin’s jacket––a jay in borrowed plumes. I would as soon see you, Mr. Rochester, tricked out in stage-trappings, as myself clad in a court-lady’s robe; and I don’t call you handsome, sir, though I love you most dearly; far too dearly to flatter you. Don’t flatter me.” 

Jane fiercely rebelled against my plans, but why? She was right, I was not handsome, but I would gladly humiliate myself and dress like a prat for her- well, I would do it, anyway. Did she not love me, or did she simply value her own way of life? One would shatter my world, while the other was something I could admire. Knowing Jane, this was simply her being humble and sincere, exactly as I had wished someone could be in this deceitful, untrustworthy world. 

“This very day I shall take you in the carriage to Millcote, and you must choose some dresses for yourself,” I retorted. “I told you we shall be married in four weeks. The wedding is to take place quietly, in the church down below yonder; and then I shall waft you away at once to town. After a brief stay there I shall bear my treasure to regions nearer the sun: to French vineyards and Italian plains; and she shall see whatever is famous in old story and in modern record: she shall taste, too, of the life of the cities; and she shall learn to value herself by just comparison with others.”

I could not stop the flow of my words, of this life I had been planning ever since my return from the accursed island of Jamaica. I had only to find the one, but finally, finally, my search was complete. I would show my greatest treasure to the world, and we had only to be bound in marriage. Only to be bound like I was already bound to another. Only by human custom and not divine love am I still chained, but indelibly so. I hid the rising guilt for the errors of my hateful family as she responded, seemingly stunned.

“Shall I travel?––and with you, sir?” 

“You shall sojourn at Paris, Rome, and Naples: at Florence, Venice, and Vienna: all the ground I have wandered over shall be re-trodden by you: wherever I stamped my hoof, your slyph’s foot shall step also. Ten years since, I flew through Europe half mad: with disgust, hate, and rage as my companions: now I shall revisit it healed and cleansed, with a very angel as my comforter,” I stated, and I had to use all of my willpower to stop myself from adding, _“when I was looking for you.” _

My elf turned and laughed at me, a beautiful sound, but a strange one. She turned, her figure silhouetted against the golden light from the window, and said quietly, “I am not an angel, and will not be one till I die: I will be myself.”

My dear Janet, I want nothing more.

  


**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this I would adore comments with all of my soul!


End file.
